


Free Bird

by LunarAsylum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor! Castiel, Implied/Referenced Character Death, In-patient therapy, M/M, Patient! Dean, Traumatized Dean Winchester, music therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarAsylum/pseuds/LunarAsylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean lost Sam a year and a half before due to a college tragedy, and he had no idea how to cope with the loss of his last family member. After months of isolation, Dean finally seeks help and that's where he meets Dr. Castiel Novak. Through the works of music and Castiel, Dean learns to open up and take back control of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [In_Factorem_Verba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Factorem_Verba/gifts).



> Another prompt story! I keep pumping these things out like crazy. I had a lot of fun with this one, since it's actually a long-distance dream of mine to be a music therapist. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to the lovely and wonderful In_Factorem_Verba! <3
> 
> Prompt: Music, Train, Panoramic

 

“How are we doing today, Dean?”

 

“I'm okay, Doc. Better than yesterday,” Dean responded, his hands gliding over the neck of the guitar. A wiry sound echoed from the sound hole as his fingers slid over the strings. It was the instrument he had gravitated towards when they had introduced him to music therapy. The tips of his fingers ran across the strings, a muted chord ringing out. Laying his hand flat over the hole, he silenced the instrument, looking up.

 

“I had a dream about Sammy,” he said, gnawing on his lower lip.

 

“He was alive?”

 

“He's always alive,” Dean responded, sighing as he stared at the coiled steel. His eyes had memorized each imperfection in the strings. The first string had a small nick in it from what he assumed was someone misbehaving with the instrument. The fifth string looked as if someone had mishandled the string while restringing the guitar, as there was a bend that had looked like someone had tried to flatten it out unsuccessfully.

 

“I know, Dean, and I know you know that he's gone, but you're still holding on,” Dr. Castiel Novak said, tilting his head slightly to the left as he looked over Dean. The taller man was one of his more stable patients at the clinic, one who knew what his problem was, but had no idea how to let it go. It was understandable, too.

 

The brunette had lost his brother a few years prior to a college shooting. The way the story was spun, Sam had been one of the heroes of the day, having saved almost an entire classroom full of students at the expense of his own life. When Dean had found out that his brother was one of the casualties, he had spent what seemed like several months in isolation, but the man was unclear on how long it truly was.

 

By Castiel's count, it was 14 months that Dean had spent in isolation, and that was a long time to wallow in your thoughts and sorrows. When the younger man had been escorted there after phoning a suicide hotline, Castiel had been more than willing to work with Dean to establish and resolve the issues he had with coping.

 

He and his patient had created a very strong bond over the last couple of months, and Castiel had taught him how to play guitar. He found that when Dean focused on something that made him happy or distracted him, his problems were forgotten for a time. While that was not his goal, it was a start for the younger man. To be able to let go completely was the first step in gaining control of what controlled you.

 

“I know I am,” Dean said after several moments of mindlessly strumming the guitar. “It's just... I have nothing left. No mom, no dad, no brother. What do you do after that?”

 

“You find yourself,” Castiel provided. “There's a you outside of all of that, Dean, and you need to find it.”

 

“How do you find yourself?”

 

“It differs for everyone.”

 

“How did you find yourself? How did you know that this is what you wanted to do?”

 

Castiel pondered at that for a moment, not really sure where it began.

 

“You know, I don't really know, to be honest. I was raised in a fairly musical family. My parents raised me listening to all different types of music, from classical, to heavy metal. I was in the band throughout high school. I thoroughly enjoyed playing and making music, but when it came down to it, it just didn't seem to be enough.

 

In my senior year at high school, I took a psychology class. Music therapy was new in the curriculum, but I knew, instantly, that's what I wanted to do. I wanted to show people how music can help and heal, and it's more than just something you enjoy. It's something that can save you from yourself.”

 

Dean stared at him, a little bit of awe radiating from his gaze.

 

“You got all of that from one class?”

 

Castiel chuckled at that, smiling at Dean. “No, but that class gave me the idea to build on. I knew that what I wanted to do was possible.”

 

Dean exchanged a glance with Castiel, before his eyes returned to the strings beneath his fingers. His fingers moved effortlessly from string to string, a simple, yet moving melody streaming from the body of the guitar.

 

The doctor couldn't help but watch as the brunette's fingers formed chord after chord, naturally forming a song of, what seemed, its own accord. He let his eyes flutter shut as the sweet sound of the guitar flowed in through his ears and throughout his veins.

 

Adept fingers slid across the strings, picking up more speed until the tune became recognizable, _Stairway to Heaven's_ intro ringing out through the room. Castiel's eyes opened at that, looking at Dean, who's eyes were focused on the guitar and his fingers. One of his fingers slipped, and it seemed he had reached a part of the song that he wasn't sure how to play, so he stopped, his right hand coming to a resting place on his knee.

 

“How did you...?”

 

Dean looked up at him, shrugging.

 

“I mean, it's not hard. I used to listen to the song all the time with...” He paused, looking away. “Anyway, I just fiddled around with the notes, and it just kind of came.”

 

“And you've never read sheet music before, or played?”

 

Dean shook his head, blinking a few times as he stared at the doctor. He didn't understand why it was hard to learn to play an instrument. Once you learned the basics, and how to maneuver yourself to suit the instrument, it was fairly simple. He watched as Castiel turned to reach the basket in the cubby-hole behind him. Pulling it out, green eyes followed hand movements as the older man flipped through several books. He found the one he was looking for with an 'aha' and pulled it out, returning the basket to its home.

 

“Here, look through this. This will teach you the note names and the frets to play each note. Feel free to fiddle around with it for a bit,” Castiel said, giving him a smile. “I'm pretty sure you have perfect pitch, but I can't be sure until you can read music.”

 

Dean nodded, taking the book from his hands, flipping it open to the first page. He soaked it in, mimicking the fret positions with his left hand as he read through the first couple of pages. They sat in silence, the occasional turn of a page whispering through the room.

 

“So tell me about your dream, Dean,” Castiel said after several moments, throwing him off guard.

 

“What?”

 

“Your dream about Sam, tell me about it.”

 

“I...O-oh. Okay. Uh, the details are a little fuzzy. We, um, we were fighting, side by side, which seems to be reoccurring,” Dean started, a little unsure of him sharing this. It had gotten weirder than normal. “Uh, we were fighting angels, a lot of different angels, actually. It's really confusing what exactly was going on, but it spanned on. Heaven was in some kind of war with itself and...”

 

He paused, unsure if he wanted to mention the next part, seeing as it might make Castiel feel uncomfortable with the discussion. The doctor had been too good to him while he was staying there. There had been more understanding and compassion from him than Dean had received from his entire family in a year. Taking a deep breath, he pressed on with his story.

 

“And you were leading one side of the front, the revolution.”

 

“Me?” Castiel asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah. You were an angel, kind of like, I don't know how to explain it, but you rebelled against Heaven, and an archangel was waging war against you, and Sam and I... we were helping you fight the battle.”

 

There was a thick layer of hush between them, Dean unable to really make eye-contact, or any kind of visual contact with Castiel.

 

“And did... Sam die in this one?”

 

Green eyes looked at him, a mixture of emotions swirling around before settling into a realization.

 

“No, he didn't,” Dean said, looking down at the guitar that was lying flat on his lap now. He hadn't even realized that this was the first dream he'd had about Sam that his brother hadn't died some gruesome death before his eyes. It was the first dream that Castiel had popped into though.

 

“Well, that's good,” the doctor said, offering a smile to Dean. “You spoke about it with a lot more ease, today, as well. You may be able to leave soon.”

 

For some reason, that settled heavily on the brunette's heart. He was happy that he was finally learning to cope without his brother, but at the same time, he really did enjoy having someone to talk to, even if talking wasn't always the easiest. His lips quirked into a half smile as he looked up at Castiel.

 

“You're not happy about that?”

 

“It's not that,” Dean started, swallowing thickly. “It's just... nice, I guess, being here. I don't know what I'd do when I leave. Or how I'll cope when I leave.”

 

“Well, how about this. We do out-patient visits, as well, so when you leave, we'll start you on a weekly visit until you readjust to living on your own,” Castiel supplemented, wanting to ease Dean's worry about leaving. He saw it often with prolonged patients here. They became so accustomed to waking up with people around, when it would be the exact opposite when they left, and that could often undo a lot of the work they did there.

 

“Okay,” Dean said, nodding, shifting to move the guitar off his lap and to put it back in its stand. He knew their time for the day was almost up and he had other things that he had to do in group sessions and such that day.

 

“You've done really well today, Dean. I'm really glad and pleased for you,” Castiel said as he stood, his folder for Dean's case under his arm. A wide, crooked smile adorned the doctor's face when Dean turned to face him. It was an infectious smile, one that instantly made him smile, too.

 

“Thank you, Dr. Novak. I really appreciate all you've done for me,” he said, his cheeks tinging a light pink. He was quick to exit the room, leaving Castiel a little baffled at that, but he didn't pursue his confusion.

 

Over the course of the next two weeks, Dean's improvement through his one-on-one therapy and group therapy was enough to warrant his leaving the facility. Castiel was sure to make an appointment with Dean to meet with him once a week at the same time. The sadness that was in the brunette's bright green eyes was enough to make his heart ache, as the taller man pulled him into a hug, thanking him again for all his help. Then he was gone.

 

The week dragged on between Dean's departure and his next visit, and it left him surprisingly antsy. He had never really worried so much about a patient of his as he did about the younger man. The brunette had been such an interesting patient of his though, with an intelligence he didn't often see, and a creative mind for envy. It pulled at his heart strings to think that Dean might be struggling to adjust back to being a civilian.

 

When his appointment rolled around, he was very relieved to see what looked like a very happy and healthy Dean enter his out-patient office. Offering a seat to the taller man, blue eyes followed the motions of him, before making their way back up to his face.

 

“So how are you doing?” he asked, smiling as Dean smiled.

 

“I'm good, actually,” he said, and he really looked it. “Since I don't have a job yet, my dad's friend been helping me get back on my feet, but I think I've figured out what I want to do.”

 

“Oh?” Castiel asked, brows raised as his smile widened. It was exciting to hear when his patients had finally started to figure things out and really get back to healthy.

 

“Yeah, I think I want to fix instruments and restore them. I was kind of thinking about it, how you help people through music, and I want to keep the music going,” he said, glee radiating from him and Castiel laughed at that, genuinely surprised.

 

“I never would've considered something like that,” he said, his smile so wide that it nearly hurt. “How did you think about it?”

 

“My dad, actually. He restored old cars to near pristine condition. Used to try to teach me and Sammy about it, actually. Sammy had never really cared for it, but I really liked the idea of taking something old and making it new again. He had this old, beat up acoustic in his house, and it works fine and all, but it's not as pretty as it was once, so I thought why not?”

 

Castiel was genuinely amazed at the ease that Dean had about him now, especially when talking about his brother, and it made him more than happy that he had been able to help another person successfully.

 

“I'm really happy for you, Dean. That's fantastic,” he said, beaming. “So how are you going to go about this aspiration?”

 

“Well, I looked it up, because I wasn't really sure there was a career out of it. I have to go back to school for it, which I'm not really excited for, but you gotta do what you gotta do. I'm trying to get a job at a local instrument shop so that I can pay to get my certification,” he explained.

 

“That's fantastic,” Castiel said, his face actually hurting with how much he was smiling. “I'm really proud for you. I have to ask though. Anymore dreams?”

 

Dean actually looked away at that, but the doctor noticed his cheek turning red, before the brunette inhaled deeply and looked back at him.

 

“Not about Sam.”

 

“But?”

 

“I... I've had dreams about you.”

 

Castiel wasn't exactly sure how to interpret that, though due to the other's slight embarrassment when he had asked, he had to assume that they weren't the purest of dreams.

 

“Were they the same settings as the last one you told me about? With angels?”

 

“No, no, normal dreams, if you want to define them,” he said, scratching absentmindedly at the side of his head.

 

“Should I assume there's sexual content?” Castiel asked, deciding to be blunt with it. Dean's eyes widened at the question and he looked away, clearly trying to get his answer in check.

 

“I...Not exactly,” he said, his gaze not returning to the doctor. Blue eyes shimmered with amusement as he folded his hands over his lap.

 

“What does 'not exactly' mean, Dean?”

 

“I, well, we don't do anything. Together. It's kind of--” Dean paused, clearly gnawing on his lower lip as he debated how to say it properly. “Well, it's kind of creepy.”

 

“Creepy how?”

 

“I-I...I'mwatchingyou.”

 

It took Castiel a moment to process the other man's words, which had been so rushed they had blurred together. Once recognition set in, he chuckled slightly as he kept his gaze on Dean.

 

“I see.”

 

“You're not upset?”

 

“Why would I be upset over something you can't control? Unless you've got the magical ability to control your thoughts and dreams, I can't fault you for them,” he responded lightly, trying not to make Dean think he blamed him or was uncomfortable about the topic. In fact, he was slightly flattered.

 

“True,” Dean responded, looking back up at Castiel, his face still tinged pink from his embarrassment. There was a heavy, awkward silence that hung between the two of them like a wet blanket, suffocating them until the doctor broke the silence.

 

The appointment carried on normally for the most part until Dean's time was up. It was fairly obvious that the brunette had been very eager and happy to see Castiel again, and frankly, he wasn't against that eagerness. He stood up to show Dean out of his office, speaking with him about scheduling another appointment. Standing in the doorway, the younger man decided to really go out of his comfort zone.

 

“Would you like to go out with me? Like... to dinner or something?”

 

It took a lot of self-control not to chuckle at Dean's very awkward way of asking him on a date. Even more self-control was needed in order to phrase his words correctly so as not to give the man the wrong idea.

 

“Perhaps after your visits have finished, you can take me out,” he said, giving Dean a grin. “But until then.”

 

The brunette seemed genuinely shocked by his response, staring at him for a moment before breaking free of his reverie.

 

“Can they be over now?”

 

Castiel laughed at that, shaking his head.

 

“No, Dean, for the sake of your health, I would advise against it. For appearance's sake, it would be better--”

 

The doctor was cut off as Dean placed a quick kiss on his lips. That was the last thing he had expected from the man.

 

“Fuck appearance's sake,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I'll see you next week, Dr. Novak.”

 

The younger man didn't hear the correction of 'It's Castiel' fall from the doctor's lips, which grew into a flattered smile. Despite all the awful circumstances that lead to their meeting, he wouldn't have had it any other way. Closing his office door, he grinned to himself as he headed back to his desk.

 

Dean Winchester was probably the most fulfilling patient he'd had during his career. It truly made him feel as if he really did make a difference in peoples' lives when they came to him for help, and it justified all that he had done to get there. All the broken rules and family traditions forsaken seemed like little blips in comparison of what the rest of his life would look like.

 

People like Dean were what reaffirmed his choices, and he could only be grateful to them. They helped him stay on his feet as much as he helped them get back on theirs. That was all the reward he could have hoped for.

 


End file.
